


Score One For Hell...

by Wayward-Kansan (loyalterrier)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:56:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loyalterrier/pseuds/Wayward-Kansan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>An angel and a demon trapped in a subcompact together… it’s like the set-up for a terrible bar joke.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Score One For Hell...

**Author's Note:**

> This is unbeated, all mistakes are my own. I own nothing, characters belong to Eric Kripke and the CW.

Junction City, KS

An angel and a demon trapped in a subcompact together… it’s like the set-up for a terrible bar joke. I check my speed and merge onto I-70. There’s no point in looking for traffic, at 3 AM, this road is pretty much deserted. A few tractor trailers head west toward Denver. I kick the Honda to 70 and watch road appear in the cone of my headlights, white lines flaring and dying as we pass.

Beside me, Castiel sits in silence, eyes fixed on the road ahead.

He doesn’t acknowledge my glance, but at least he’s with me. At least he isn’t catatonic anymore. I can feel my vessel’s heart clench with emotion. It surprises me to realize that it might be with relief.

For as much as demons are programed to hate angels, Clarence, the little shit, has grown on me.

Countryside, dark and formless passes by outside the car, and still we say nothing.

I reach out and flick on the radio, bubblegum pop music fills the car and I start searching until I find a station that plays Top 40. An hour later, Castiel finally speaks.

“Turn it off.”

"What’s the matter, Clarence?” I sneak a look at him. He’s turtled down in his trenchcoat, face hard.

“I know there are rules. About music in the car… but,” he searches the windshield for a moment before saying quietly, “I cannot listen to this.”

“Rules?” I chuckle, “What rules?”

He finally meets my flicking gaze, “I know that the driver chooses the music and everyone else is… forced… to listen as well. But, I do not care for this noise.”

I reach up and turn the radio off, plunging the car into silence once more. The highway buzzes under the tires, the engine’s pistons whine, and wind cries mournfully outside the windows.

“The Winchester’s fucked you up, didn’t they?”

“Do not speak of them in such terms!” he spits. It startles me, the sudden burst of life. We pass a sign for Topeka, and the car is all at once cramped. Castiel’s wings, semi-visible in the deep amber flashes from streetlights lining the off-ramp, fill the front seat uncomfortably and spill into the back. As he breathes unevenly, I feel them rise and fall, ruffling in agitation. I swerve across three lanes of interstate highway and take the exit.

“Where are we going?” he asks, voice still, not betraying the swirl of emotion from seconds ago.

“We’re getting off.”

I take us to a gas station although the car’s fuel gauge registers a half tank. I need space. The Civic needs to air out a bit. It reeks of grace and sulfur with an underlying current of fear.

The station is pretty much deserted as I swipe my card and begin to pump fuel. Castiel sits motionless and I exhale in relief. Whatever had just happened was now an afterthought, I hoped. Turning back to the pump, I am startled by the sudden snap of wings and there he is. Glaring at me the way he does.

“What, Clarence?” I grit my teeth.

“It is just that you speak of things which you can not possibly know. It is infuriating.”

I roll my eyes, “I just meant that you can’t even enjoy music without there being some tie to your little _pet_. How do the other angels feel about that?” For a moment he looks as if I’ve slapped him. His nostrils flare and his look hardens dangerously. I love it when he tries to act tough. It’s enough to make a girl’s heart skip a beat.

“What? What now?” I spit, to cover my thought.

“You are acting like a… what’s the phrase?” he fumbles, casting around as if the deserted street offers answers, and it’s adorable, “...A first-class bitch.”

The smirk that blooms across my mouth is unintentional, “Aww, Clarence… sweet-talk? You shouldn’t. Dean’s rubbing off on you.”

His eyes narrow in irritation, and I laugh, “Get back in the car, jackass.”

Castiel holds my gaze for a second, then rocks away from me, preparing to follow my instructions. Suddenly, he pauses, glancing past me at the station.

“Meg?” There’s an odd inflection in his question. It almost sounds like… caution.

I hang the nozzle slowly and deliberately back in its cradle, “Yes?”

“I believe we have company.” I turn and follow his gaze. The station attendant is hyper-focused on us with eyes of midnight black. Without conscious thought, I feel my own eyes dilate, showing the same inky blackness in return.

“Get in the car. I’ll take care of this.” I take a half step forward, preparing to challenge the attendant.

Two more appear around the corner of the building, and I pause. My angel blade is in the car, without it, I’m in trouble. One on one I can handle, but three to one without a weapon tips the outcome decidedly in their favor. And I’m not about to let these assholes serve us up to Crowley without a fight. I only have time to make a single snap decision.

“Get to Sam and Dean!” I use my shoulder to shove Castiel, and he rocks with the blow before disappearing. The demons will be on me before I can do much, but I’m not going down without taking at least two of them with me. Ripping the car door open, I clutch for the blade as another three demons appear. Six against one isn’t going to be pretty, but I’ll probably survive. I come around the front of the little Honda and show them all my blade.

“Come at me, fuckers!” I shout.

And they do. Every last goddamned one rushes at me. I ready the knife and prepare to land the first blow when Castiel appears before me, I see the ghost of his wings held out to shield me. He takes the two lead demons by the forehead, riding them to the ground. With twin flashes of murky orange light, they are dispatched and I swing around to grapple a third. Light explodes behind my left eye as the first blow lands with a thundercrash. Shoving, I earn just enough distance to plunge the blade deeply and smoothly into the vessel’s heart.

Withdrawing, blood pouring into my eye and mouth, I charge the fourth and fifth, slicing and shoving. What I lack in finesse, I make up for in sheer power. I jab the blade through the jaw of the fourth, watching her eyes flash and the light retreat. It can’t conceal the look of utter revulsion. The fifth turns and runs.

Three steps into his sprint, Castiel is on him. The vessel crumples to the pavement and we are alone, the sixth demon has vanished. No doubt he’s filling in the boss right now. Sulfur hangs thick in the air, mingling with the copper and salt I can taste. The blood burns. Salt, no matter its composition still affects me. I look to the angel and his face is impassive.

Castiel the unflappable.

“We should go.” he says, matter-of-factly.

“No shit, Sherlock.” I open the driver’s side door and fall heavily into the seat. My vision is swimming and I’m more angry than hurt. Starting the car, I throw it into drive and squeal the tires in my haste to put some distance between us and ground zero. Every cop in town will be heading for us very soon.

My mind spins with all of the shit I’m going to have to do now to cover our trail. The car is a wash, it’ll have to be dumped. Oh, well, I didn’t care for it anyway. Covering our escape is going to be a lot more difficult, though. We can get a new car, and we can get out of town… but covering our trail is going to be… complicated.

I can’t take the interstate now, though. One look at me and the toll booth operator is going to phone us in. After our little light show at the Gas and Go, it’s just a lousy idea. Where to go, though? I picture a map of this backwater hellhole, no pun intended, and spin through a dozen ideas.

East is least and west is best, right? That’s what they teach in survival training. Except, in this case, there’s a whole lot of nothing to _not_ get lost in. I take Highway 40 and head for Lawrence, instead. We’ll ditch the car in the college town and find another nondescript piece of shit to steal. Then we’ll head for Kansas City and get lost in the local population. We pass a town, its name means nothing, doesn’t even register. Castiel is quiet.

In the dashboard lights on a stretch of uninhabited road, he finally speaks.

“You should stop.”

“Right here?” I ask spitefully.

“No. In the next town. You need to clean up.” He says it almost tenderly.

“No. We need to get the hell out of here and lose ourselves.”

“In Lawrence, then. You need rest.”

I scoff, “I _need_ a drink. I don’t need rest. Or, are you angels totally unfamiliar with riding a meat-suit hard and putting it away wet?”

He stiffens beside me. I don’t apologize, though I feel like I should.

But, I don’t.

“Fine. We’ll stop in Lawrence. But only for a couple of hours.” The angel relaxes somewhat, remains silent.

Kanwaka slides by as the sky begins to lighten fractionally. Twenty minutes later and we are cruising into the west side of Lawrence. We drive past a half dozen Econo-lodges and Motel Sixes before finding a motel that will do for the moment. The Go Hawk Motel boasts air conditioning and wi-fi. Neither of which will we be using.

I wait in the car in my current condition. I watch through the window as the bored clerk behind the counter asks how long we want the room, and is obviously impressed when Castiel replies. He signs and returns to the car with a key and I pull through.

“How long are we staying, Clarence?”

“I have rented the room only for the night. I thought you did not want to stay long.”

Chuckling, I reply, “That would be why the clerk was impressed, then.”

I put the car in park and shut the engine off.

 "Why would that impress him?” He asks incredulous.

I smirk at him and get out. Unlocking the door, I step into the Winchester Suite. It comes with terrible lighting, funky motel smells, and dubiously stained sheets. Clarence ought to feel right at home.

 “Meg? Why would renting and occupying a motel room for a night impress the clerk?”

 Tossing the keys on the nightstand, which wobbles dangerously, I turn and smirk again.

“Because, Clarence. Gentlemen in such fine clothes as yours,” I adjust the lapels of his trenchcoat and let my hands linger, “don’t bring girls like me to motels like this for whole evenings.”

He looks down at me, frowning in confusion.

“Think of the Pizza Man.”

Realization dawns, and he looks away. In what? Embarrassment?

“Oh.” He steps back, “I would not… presume… to…”

His eyes flick around the room. Oh, he’s flustered. This is a great game.

“You are an abomination. Angels do not...”

I laugh, “I know. I’m just messing with you.”

Taking in the room, I realize that it’s a bigger pit than I thought. Even Sam and Dean would’ve checked out of this place. The headboard on one bed angles alarmingly away from the wall. The other is scuffed and battered from activities I don’t even want to think about. The nightstand is a flimsy joke, one hard sneeze away from collapsing completely. The television doesn’t work, there are no buttons and no remote. The bathroom door doesn’t close all the way, and the towels that hang on the rack look limp and used.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I feel it sag unhealthily. Oh, well. I’m only here to wash my face and sit on something that isn’t hurtling down the highway for a little bit. Castiel stands in the middle of the room, unmoving.

“Well,” I slap my thighs and stand, “I’m gonna get cleaned up so we can get back to ditching Heaven and Hell.”

I go to the bathroom and pick up the cleanest washcloth and take stock of what I need to clean. My face is a purple and red mess, the gash on my forehead already healed. My clothes, on the other hand are probably unsalvageable. Blood has dried thick and crusty down the front of my t-shirt and jacket. The jacket’s leather is ruined.

I’ve got a bag in the car. I’ll just see if I can’t find something.

In the room, my pathetic little knapsack sits on the end of my bed, though I never even heard Cas leave. He’s sitting on the other bed, staring intently at the blank television screen. I turn the water on, at full blast it’s a barely more than a trickle. Sighing, I turn it off and turn the shower on. Marginally better. I close the door as far as it will go, about two thirds closed.

With it closed, I’m cut off from the shower unless I crawl over the toilet. Fuck this crap-hole. I try again, same result. Part of me seriously considers ripping the door off its hinges and skipping town before management finds it. Instead, I sigh and simply leave it.

“Don’t look, Clarence,” I caution. I turn my back, so I have no idea if he does or not. And, really, at this point, who cares?

I drop my jacket and pull my shirt off by the hem, turning it inside out. Both go in a pile. My jeans are next and I look down at the dried blood on my skin. it runs halfway to my navel with splotches on my thighs where I got in the car still bleeding.

Stepping into the stall, the water is lukewarm, but sufficient and I scrub my body first. My face is a different story. Even though I heal, the bruising is taking some time to diminish. Gingerly, I let the water do as much of the work as I can. I know Clarence in there could heal me if I asked him to, but there are just some things a girl isn’t willing to do.

I wasn’t about to go in there begging like little orphan Oliver, ‘please, sir, could you heal me up?’

Little Oliver’s voice sounds suspiciously like Crowley and I shudder. I scrub softly, the cloth coming away red and brown, with bits of black. The shower’s spray smells cloyingly of sulfur and hellfire. It only reminds me of how far I’ve fallen from my home. I chuckle at this thought.

Through the curtain, I see a shadow and fear grips me with icy fingers.

“Are you alright?”

I relax. Just the angel.

“I’m fine.” I say over the sullen drizzle of water, “just a little banged up.”

The shadow remains.

“Clarence?”

“Yes?”

“Get out.”

The shadow moves back into the room. I roll my eyes and smile. My very own human-nature challenged friend.

Shutting the water off, I reach for a towel and sniff it cautiously. It smells of cheap laundry soap, and not much at that. I shrug and begin to dry off. Wrapping it around my body, I step into the room and rummage through my bag. Castiel watches me with a humorous confusion.

I pull out a t-shirt, a pair of jeans, socks, underwear, and a bra. Poor angel, his eyes radiate curiosity.

“Why do you wear those things?” he gestures to my under garments.

I pick the bra up and dangle it from my finger, “Because, it holds my boobs up.”

“I am aware of that,” he says and flushes, “I mean, I am aware of its purpose. But you are not human, do you really require...” he gestures quickly, hands flapping against his knees.

“When in Rome, Clarence.” I smile, “When in Rome.”

“We are in Kansas.”

“Look, unless you’re gonna do something other than sit there and critique my choice of underwear, find someplace else to take your angel ass for a little bit, ‘kay?”

He shifts but doesn’t leave. The discomfort in his body language is obvious.

“Hello? Earth to Clarence. Get out!”

Cas stands but doesn’t move. I stare him down. He shuffles his feet. Oh, Jesus… what now? I glare at him, he cocks his head, and I hit on a sure-fire way to send him teleporting on his way.

“Why do you call me that?” He asks before I can speak.

“I told you, Clarence is a famous angel.”

“I have never heard of him. I know all of the angels.”

“It’s from a movie. Clarence shows George Bailey what life would be like without him.” I pause and swallow, “All of the people whose lives he changed.”

“If I am Clarence… are you, then, George Bailey?”

I pause, dropping the bra, “I don’t think so… I’ve never changed anyone’s life. Not for the better, anyway.”

The look he gives me breaks my heart. Demon or not, I’m suddenly feeling emotions that I don’t want to. I unleash my anti-angel weapon.

“Look, either get the fuck out of here, or show me what you learned from the Pizza Man.” I challenge.

He’s out of there so fast, I don’t even hear his wings. I smirk.

Score one for Hell.

 

* * *

 

I get dressed and brush my hair before packing things up to get ready to leave. Mourning the loss of my jacket, I toss my clothes into the trash and hear a knock at the door. Who the hell is here? I glance to the window, dawn painting bold orange and copper lines across the wall through the blinds. My hand dips into my bag and closes around the hilt of the angel blade. Pulling it quietly free, I go to the door and ready myself to dispatch whoever is out there.

There’s no peephole, so I crack the door.

False alarm, it’s just everyone’s favorite angel.

I let the door fall open and, am startled when he comes through the door like a freight train. He doesn’t say a word, but I am suddenly in his arms and he’s kicking the door closed, shaking the entire building. My legs wrap around his waist, holding him close in a reflexive action. His body presses me into the wall, his lips are on mine, and I taste blue, open skies and the zinc-edged tang of grace.  

Pizza man it is, then.

Whether he’s acting on the instincts of his human host, or whether the angels actually get up to some kinky shit, I don’t know. His mouth works until mine relents and allows his tongue to come sweeping inside. I feel the sharp slap he delivers to my ass, blow stinging through the denim. Look who’s getting this party started off right. Our mouths grind together, his teeth grazing my bottom lip with perfect, precise pressure.

Oh, this is definitely wrong. And dangerous.

And delicious.

I’d be safer playing Russian roulette.

Say what you want about meat suits, they may be fragile, but they have their perks. I pull back with a gasp, and he swallows that breath. In the glow from the window, his eyes are more electric blue than I’ve ever seen. His gaze is intense, I feel it burn me. It’s too much. I should stop this now.

Immediately.

His hips grind against mine, I feel his hands on me, everywhere at once. Suddenly, I’m just along for the ride, my body betrays my thoughts. I need to stop this, and my body keeps sending the clear message: shut up and enjoy it. Across the room, the headboard above my bed rocks dangerously in rhythm with our motions. My fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck and twine forcefully. I’m panting now, my mouth responding to Castiel’s, eyes closed, savoring.

What? Like _this_ is what I’m going back to Hell for? I’m already an outcast from the other demons because of my actions. If I’m gonna be tortured for the rest of eternity, I’m going to go with something to remember. Adding an angelic notch to my bedpost ought to be worth it.

He holds me, mouth trailing down my neck, teeth finding my ear and roughly rolling it. I lean my head back, surrendering to the fire burning within. Hips roll together in sync, creating phenomenal friction. Oh, god.

This.

He pins me to the wall, pulls his lips away and shrugs out of the infamous coat, it hangs awkwardly around my legs and I don’t even care. Grabbing the front of his psych-ward issued plain white t-shirt with both hands, I jerk him back to me, mouth opening, urging him on. I feel his hand creep under my shirt and I try to lean back. I have nowhere to go, and his hand continues, cupping the cotton of the very bra I’d just teased him with.

Honestly, I’m surprised to feel a physical response at that. He’s getting hard, I wasn’t even sure angels could do that. I have a sudden deep and abiding love for whoever in Heaven made that possible. I grind harder against him and we exhale into each other. My wet hair clings to both of our faces, and he turns, arms full of me, together we tumble down onto a bed.

Usually, I’m not one for being on bottom, but I feel a rare exception for Clarence, here. Call it sentiment. Call it losing control. Call it whatever.

It’s shaping up to be pretty fucking glorious.  

Lover boy untangles himself from my legs easily, throwing his coat who-cares-where with one hand. The other is moving across my skin, lighting fire after fire. I buck my hips and roll him onto his back. I start to take my shirt off, and he simply grabs two fistfuls of jersey and rips it from collar to hem, pulling me down onto him and rolling us back. On my back, my breasts rise until the bra almost can’t contain them. His gaze takes me in and those eyes are foreign, the blue swallowed by black irises.

He’s being corrupted, and I like it.

I’m such a bad girl.

Our breathing is ragged, and Cas actually smiles, then groans when I flex my thighs. I start to pull the cotton of his shirt up, he closes his eyes and the shirt is gone, wished away. He tugs at a strap on my bra, mouth following his fingers with caresses.

Suddenly, he’s looking less and less like a holy tax accountant and a whole hell of a lot more like a god. He wraps himself around me, one hand binding my wrists loosely, the other playing across my skin.It’s several heartbeats before I realize that wherever his shirt went, my bra is now keeping it company. Pulling back, he looks at me, all of me, for perhaps the first time.

Whatever dam has been built between us since our first meeting is collapsing with the force of a hurricane. Through the haze of passion, we are actually seeing each other for the first time, vessel to meat suit. His angelic countenance is becoming human around the edges, and his gaze lingers on me for a long moment.  

“What?” I ask, searching a face that is a little less worn than the angel’s usual visage.

“You are…” he shakes his head, sounding surprised, “pretty.”

“Oh, no you don’t. None of this sentimental crap… it’s bad for our reputations.” I lean up and wrap my arms around his neck, “Now, fuck me.”

I expect the somewhat shy hesitation so typical of him. What I get is a sudden explosion of raw need. He pounds his hips against mine, erection swollen to painful proportions.

We are shucking clothes now like it’s the end of the world. With the sunrise’s rays peeking through the mini-blinds, it looks as if the outside world is on fire. Together, we move, the skin of my thigh touching the slick heat of his shaft. His fingers play against me, slipping quickly into me, then withdrawing to touch himself. I rake his bare back with my fingernails and he groans. His fingers return to me and delve more deeply.

I throw my head back, and his lips touch my neck, teeth gently scraping the pulse point. My hips buck against his hand and I’m losing it.

He finds a spot that makes me moan, so he presses it again. And again.

“Yes?” he asks, voice even lower than usual. I gasp and nod. Again he touches it, “It is… pleasurable?"

My fingers find his cock and close around it. I move my fist up, then down. His rhythm falters.

"Oh." His eyes slam closed. I pump again, excruciatingly slow. This time, Castiel’s mouth falls open. I buck my hips and stroke him with the same rhythm. And again.

The blue is returning to his eyes, and this time they radiate grace.

Uh-oh.

I stop, "Hey, you gotta get some control, Clarence."

His eyes meet mine, and through the haze, we recognize the danger.

"I can contain it," he states. He sounds sure, but I don’t trust him. Angels… demons… you get the picture.

"Have you ever done this before?" I'm starting to come down from the heady intoxication, reality setting in around the edges of my sex-fogged brain.

"Not like this."

Oh, boy.

Neither of us moves. My nerves are still singing, his hand is still in me, and we're in uncharted territory here. On the one hand I don't wanna get fried. But, on the other, I'm desperate to finish. Compromise, then.

"Let's take it slow. If you get out of control, or a little smitey, I'm cutting you off, Clarence."

He nods. Then leans over me, “But, here… like this, do not call me that.”

“What do you want me to call you?” his hand begins to move again, slowly.

“Call me by my name.” That voice again. Who knew angels could sound so… primal?

“Why?” I stroke in counterpoint to his touch.

He gazes down at me and says nothing. Well, if he wants to play it that way. I’m not screaming in Enochian and no way in hell am I screaming an angel’s name during sex.

No way.

I have standards.

“Then I just won’t call you anything.” I increase my speed fractionally and his movements falter.

“Why?” He echoes my question.

“I refuse to say your name in bed. And you can’t make me.” I challenge.

He rocks his head slightly from side to side, weighing my words. His head dips and his lips find mine, sucking and teasing. My own open in response, and we start at our new, slower pace. Now I remember why I don’t like virgins.

I open my senses, waiting for the smell of grace to become overpowering, letting me know he’s losing control. All I smell is sex so I push him a little.

I use my thumb at the head of his cock, spreading his wetness around, running my thumb up and down his shaft. We are back to building that fire, embers flaring to life. My tongue in his mouth, my legs trying to slip around him. His mouth moving faster, fingers withdrawing to grip my thighs. Hair flopping over his forehead with abandon, grace shimmering deep in his eyes, seeing the fires of Hell in mine.

It’s time. The sun’s rays have shifted fractionally on the wall, though we’ve been lost in eternity. I flip him over and crawl on top, backing him all the way against the headboard. Slowly, oh so slowly, ease on to him. I sink and he huffs, trying so hard to contain himself. His sounds are animal now, no better than the humans around us.

That sound he makes turns me on even more. His fingers clench my hips, and I open myself just a fraction more, sinking all the way down. Now he’s drawing little crescents of blood with his nails, but I don’t mind. Huffs turn to pants, and I start to smell zinc again. Calming him with a stroke to his chest, I lift myself and sink slowly again.

He smacks my ass, and my skin burns. Arching my brow at him, I send a clear message. He better not be leaving marks.

I put a finger to my clit and start circling as I rise and fall too slowly again, feeling the swell of his cock in me. It’s torture, for both of us. Once he figures out what I’m doing he places his thumb over my spot and begins to get me off, just as sure as a seasoned man. After a few more moments, I can’t stop and I can’t go slow. I am in agony.

My hips begin to rise and fall faster, seeking the climax. Below me, Cas’ eyes are clamped shut, not in horror or revulsion, but in an effort to control himself. His hands on my hips are now pulling me violently down on to him, and we’re both whimpering in pain and pleasure.

We’re approaching a point of no return, and suddenly, I’m on my back on the bed, looking up at him as he pounds into me. When he rocks back for a moment and raises my hips, my head falls to the side. I glimpse the wall beside us for an instant. Like a flashbulb going off, the image there sears itself into my mind.

Between our silhouettes, heat lines radiate, and Castiel’s wings spread proudly, feathers individually splayed.

We are so close, I am making sounds I have never heard a human make. The muscles in his chest flex in time with our motions. Then, right before the moment of truth, the overpoweringly clean scent of zinc rises up in my nostrils, and he leans into me, filling me with his body as I’m coming undone around him.

“Castiel,” I exhale with the force of a cry. I give a tight cry of pleasure as my muscles tremble and quake while the grace shines from his eyes. Two more rough pumps and he’s right behind me, collapsing to his elbows. After a moment, he rolls to one side and lays back heavily, drained.

We lay there for a long time. Neither speaking, both lost in our own thoughts as the light climbs the window. Finally, I sit up. It's time to leave. We've got work to do and cars to "borrow". And it isn't gonna do itself.

Around us, the room is a wreck. Once, the headboard on the bed next to us hung haphazardly at best. Now it cants at an angle, valiantly clinging to the wall on one end and resting a few inches above the floor on the other. The nightstand is officially dead, but that's to be expected. I could have sneezed and done more damage. We lay on a mattress with our outlines permanently scooped into the cotton ticking. The headboard behind us has a fine film of soot and the lacquer is bubbling

The room, though small, has clothing scattered everywhere. It reeks of brimstone, copper, and zinc... metallics mixing under the scent of sex and sweat and something swimming around the edges of pure animal need.

Alright...

It's time to do the walk of shame.

Glancing at the angel, he's half reclined and almost, dare I say... smiling. In his current state, he looks young. All the lines of worry smoothed by the new day's light. His hair's a mess, spikes alternating with smooth. He's slightly scruffy, and I kind of like it.

I get dressed and take the trash bag full of clothes. Picking up my bag, I stuff crap in it before looking one last time at Castiel.

His eyes are open now, and I see that he isn't quite back to himself. Because those blue eyes twinkle. Just a tiny bit. That mouth curls slightly, content.

Give him a few more minutes, though, and he'll be back to slightly squinting, mouth set in a hard line, looking as if the fate of the world rests in his hands.

Maybe it does.

But, for now, it's back to work and back to business as usual. As if this never happened. We are on the run, now, after all. He's in my keeping and Dean Winchester scares the shit out of me.

I heft my bag and give him a smirk.

"Come on, Clarence, let's blow this shit hole."


End file.
